


Just until sunrise...

by moonwenda



Series: Quietus [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: "Say No To This" but it's John who breaks the wedlock I guess, Alexander is sleep-deprived as all living hell, Alexander needs a break, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, John is a fanboy, John is cute and teaches biology, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 11:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12629628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwenda/pseuds/moonwenda
Summary: Alexander Hamilton was far too tired to think about the consequences of his actions when he first met John Laurens. Now? He is faced with an issue he would rather be rid of.





	Just until sunrise...

It was nights like this Alexander Hamilton loathed with all his being. Nights when he could not catch the sweet, cooling release of sleep, but stayed up until ungodly hours in the morning either writing or, like tonight, staring out of the goddamn window. The sleeplessness itself was but a minor annoyance. The real – and painfully concrete – headache came from the constant state of sleep deprivation it led to. The man sighed, taking another sip of his tea. What the hell did he ever do to deserve this?

_.rewind._

It had been a lovely summer’s day about a month ago. Flowers in bloom, birds darting from tree to tree and the foliage shimmering in dozens of different shades of green. Alexander had been taking a walk in the park, musing to himself as he strolled the unpaved pathways. The most notable con of working with politics was not being able to relax for a moment – ever, really. The man had been far too deep in his own head to even notice the approaching figure, let alone recognize them, but as it had happened, the figure had recognized him.  
“Oh, Alexander Hamilton, yes?” the wide-eyed man with wild hair and a face blessed with freckles in an abundance had asked, smiling.

Hamilton’s gaze had snapped from his toes to the man, one eyebrow raised in an expression of inquisition. What could this man possibly want with him?  
“Yes”, he had admitted, nonetheless, folding his arms across his chest. “And who are you?” The stranger had cracked a smile, offering his hand.  
“Laurens. John Laurens”, he had said and as Alexander had put his own hand forward, the man had shaken it firmly. “I work at the university, teach biology. More in the interest of this meeting, though, I’m a fan of your work – your essays, your views on racial issues… what a fortunate coincidence that I should run into you like this!”

More than the man’s speech, his looks had caught Hamilton’s attention. The man standing in front of him – Laurens, that had been his name – had been somewhat scrawny. At first glance there had not been much to note about him, but the longer he had studied this man, the more details he had found. Like how his eyes were not blue as he had thought at first, but a curious mixture of green, grey and brown. And on the topic of his eyes? The enthusiastic spark in them had piqued Alexander’s interest, enough for the man to allow himself to stop and properly listen to this strange, pale man who seemed to know more about him than could be said for most of the people whom he encountered on a regular basis for work purposes.

The two men had sat down on a park bench, but somewhere in the midst of a conversation that had started from politics and had somehow ended up in different species of turtles they had found their way into a small café nearby. The more Laurens had talked, the harder it had been for Hamilton to cut the man off. Not only did he know what he was talking about, but he also clearly enjoyed the subject at hand, so Alexander had sat there, listening to him speak. For the most part. For the remainder he had been studying Laurens’ body – his thin frame, almost paper-white skin and the generous dusting of freckles adorning the man’s cheekbones. About forty-five minutes into their conversation Alexander had realized that he had not been listening to a _word_ that had come out of that sinfully beautiful mouth in the past twenty minutes.

And so, Alexander Hamilton’s downfall had begun. In the following weeks he had met John Laurens several times. Almost always in a café or a small bakery, but a few times in his own apartment – never Laurens’, to which he heard a reason for later: he was married, and his wife was expecting. As to why that would present and issue to them meeting had puzzled Alexander at first, but soon enough he had realized he was not alone with the plague that was his feelings. For somewhere along the way, the interest had turned mutual, which Laurens had admitted to late one night when the two men had been sitting in Alexander’s living room. It had taken Hamilton a total of three minutes to then pin the other man against his couch and kiss him breathless.

_.fast forward._

So that was what he had done to deserve his sleepless nights. He had gotten involved with someone else’s husband, and god, it had felt so good. In lieu of talking about the matter, they had kept meeting in secret, showering each other with tender and desperate affection. Now, however, Alexander feared the affair would come to light and destroy his political career – something he could not afford. The man stared at his phone, the device lying on his desk, harmless. A conversation with John Laurens was open on the screen.

_“We need to talk.”_  
_“What is it, Alex? It’s the middle of the night.”_  
_“We can’t keep doing this. If it pops up in public, I’m ruined, John, do you understand?”_

There was no answer as of yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I am venturing into unknown territory. My sister introduced me to Hamilton a few weeks ago and I haven't been able to. Shut. Up. About. That. Damn. Musical. Ever. Since. Do feed my raging addiction with kudos and comments, I appreciate feedback a lot (even if the story itself is very short).
> 
> P.S. - Alex in this is so relatable to me. I haven't properly slept in what feels like 300 years (it's probably circa two weeks) and while I only _wish_ it was because of making out with John Laurens... well. Yeah. It should be enough if I tell you this piece was written at 3am and I fell asleep midway through doing it. A girl can dream, yes?


End file.
